


White Russian

by BloodInTheWater33



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bars and Pubs, Dirty Talk, Flirting, Language Kink, M/M, Sensuality, Sexual Tension, Strangers, Voice Kink, Русский | Russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 19:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12894990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodInTheWater33/pseuds/BloodInTheWater33
Summary: Shizuo isn’t sure if that well-dressed stranger who sits down at the bar one night is Russian. But his voice is a soft, alluring drawl that he can’t resist, and while the man clearly knows exactly what he is doing, Shizuo doesn’t anymore.---In which Shizuo discovers he might have a kink for the Russian language.





	White Russian

 

Tonight wasn’t exactly a busy night, and Shizuo was glad.

So far, nobody had tried to piss him off – or had accidentally pissed him off – and he hadn’t broken a single glass yet. But it was only 10:39 pm, the round vintage clock on the wall told him, and if it just so happened that a group of drunk idiots came in on their tour through the bars of Ikebukuro, his fairly good day could still turn into a bad one. Until then, he planned to enjoy the peace he found in the routines that the job of being a bartender entailed, in polishing glasses dry with a towel, in jugging bottles of liquor and in the practiced movements of mixing and decorating a vast variety of drinks whose recipes he knew by heart.

In the end, his peace turned out to be short-lived.

As he looked up from the small dishwasher underneath the counter that he had just been filling up, a black-haired stranger entered the bar, heading straight towards him. He crossed the distance between the door and the counter with elegant strides, an air of arrogance surrounding him as he sat down on one of the stools with a self-satisfied smirk on his lips. He was dressed in a dark ensemble of slim trousers, a slimmer fitting blazer and a black silk shirt shining underneath – something one could wear for a business meeting. Or maybe it was a bit too casual for that. The fabrics and tailoring looked fancy and expensive, and while Shizuo wasn’t one to usually analyze the clothing of the customers coming in, this time he did, because this customer looked out of place. This wasn’t a hip yuppie bar in the district of Shinjuku, and Shizuo briefly wondered if the guy had lost his way or had accidentally hopped off at the wrong train station. He didn’t seem lost, though, as he clearly basked in the attention of the many eyes following him, and flashed the bartender an over-confident smile. The stranger gave him an once-over and smirked, a gesture that seemed condescending. First flashes of angered heat rose up inside Shizuo’s chest at this, and he clenched his fist around the towel trying to calm himself down.

He already didn't like him, Shizuo decided in the first few moments of being faced with this guy. Mischievous rust-coloured eyes (who the hell had _rust-coloured_ eyes, _what the fuck_ ) would have been enough to make him stand out in a crowd but to make matters worse he had handsome, almost _pretty_ features that most certainly made up at least half of his obvious narcissism.

The young man didn’t even greet the bartender before a ringing noise resounded from inside his blazer’s inner pocket. He reached into it, pulled out a smartphone and gazed at the screen for a moment.

“ _Ah_ , gotta get that.”

He didn’t sound as apologetic as he might have intended to. The fake sweetness that dripped off of his words undermined their supposed sincerity, so as the intuitive person Shizuo were, something told him his newest customer was one to be wary of. His whole demeanor seemed too sleek, too polished. _Suspicious_ , in general – but Shizuo could not put his finger on it yet.

When he answered the phone, the first word the stranger uttered was short and unrecognizable; then, he simply listened to the person on the other side of the phone for the span of several long moments. Shizuo didn’t particularly care about the phone calls of customers and he figured they were none of his business. So he turned back to his work, refilling the small space underneath the counter with some of the tumblers he had just polished. But as the dark clad figure in front of him started to speak, he couldn’t help but perk his ears in interest. There was no reason to feel guilty about listening in: Shizuo didn’t understand what he said because the guy answered in _fluent Russian._

The conversation went on for quite a while. His tone was professional, suggesting it was a business call which somehow fit the raven’s general appearance. He sounded serious, most of the time. Only occasionally, the pull of a smile on his lips would seep into his tone as if he was on the better side of a bargain. Which wasn’t surprising. With the amount of competence and trustworthiness his voice gave off in business mode, Shizuo would bet the guy could sell anything to anyone.

  
Shizuo wondered if he was Russian, despite the stranger's Japanese features. He seemed to speak the language without any Japanese accent. Truthfully, he didn't understand a single word of Russian, but he distinctly recognized the familiar sound of it – Simon and Dennis from Russia Sushi spoke it with each other, and Vorona, one of his colleagues at the bar, could sometimes be heard speaking it when she was on the phone. He caught himself enjoying the lazy drawl in the stranger’s voice over the alternating harsh and soft sounds of the foreign language. The voice itself was light and velvety. A warm shiver ran down Shizuo's spine.

But it did not escape him that the velvet vibrations filling the space kept dipping into something sinister. It might have been the language itself or the calculating edge of his words. For Shizuo, who was not the person on the other side of the phone, the ulterior motives of the conversation were irrelevant. He just faintly registered how this sinister edge added danger to the voice and subsequently, electricity to his veins.

At some point, without his volition, the blond’s eyes closed to imprint the sound into his mind. Mechanically, his fingers moved the towel over the same spot on the same glass, while the rest of him was distracted by a language he had never paid so much attention to before.

A clicking sound of hard plastic hitting wood indicated the end of the phone call as the phone was put flat against the counter’s surface. The clearing of a throat startled Shizuo back to reality.

  
"What do you want?" Shizuo barked. It came out a little rash and in a completely different wording than Shizuo had intended. He shook his head a little to shake himself out of his dazed state. "I mean, which drink would you like to order, sir?"

"Which one would you recommend?" the stranger purred in response.

"White Russian", Shizuo blurted without hesitation. And he felt stupid for it just a second later. One could think he said it for obvious reasons. The truth was that White Russian was his favorite alcoholic drink: the milk, the sweetness and the fact that the alcohol was barely noticeable made the drink so appealing to him personally, so whenever he was asked what drink he would recommend, he usually recommended his own favorite drink. In this very special case though, he felt incredibly stupid for his suggestion.  
His cheeks started to heat up a little in embarrassment and he looked back down to the glasses, wondering worriedly if that counted as a racist comment.

  
But the possibly Russian stranger laughed, seemed charmed, even.  Apparently, he took his slip-up as a joke rather than disrespect. Shizuo took the chance to act casual, hoping the other had taken his prior demeanor as nonchalance.  
"I'll take that, then."  
The stranger leaned a little forward, propped his chin in his hand and his elbow onto the counter, and proceeded to draw lazy circles onto it with one elegant, almost feminine finger while he waited. This action made him look younger, in a way. It was confusing - his youthful looks contrasted with his practiced competence on the phone which contrasted with his occasional boyish mannerisms. Shizuo wondered if he was the kind of person who sometimes got mistaken for a teenager until people heard him speak, and then they would hurriedly change to adult honorifics and apologize.   
  
The young man looked up from his invisible drawing and only then Shizuo realized he had been frozen to the spot, not mixing the drink like he was supposed to. There was a gleam in the stranger’s eyes and a knowing grin spread on his lips. It gave Shizuo the eerie feeling that he had or hadn’t passed some kind of test.  
  
"Are you okay, bartender-san?" The young man asked, not looking worried at all. Instead, he looked incredibly amused.

"Yeah, I was..." Shizuo began and trailed off. Nothing came to him that he could use to his defense, so he simply grabbed a tumbler before he could say something stupid again.

"Alright, sir, White Russian it is."  
"As much as I enjoy such polite service, please don't call me sir." And he leaned forward a bit more, almost as if he wanted to share a secret with Shizuo.  
"Call me _Izaya_."  
His voice was a low, velvety drawl before he slowly leaned back again, his reddish eyes staying locked with Shizuo's.  
"Izaya", Shizuo tested and thought that it did sound vaguely Russian to him. It came out as a soft rumble, and those entrancing eyes went half-lidded for a moment. Shizuo's hands mixed the drink with practiced ease as if from their own memory, so practiced Shizuo could trust them almost without looking, granting his eyes the sight of his marvelous expression. Another hot sensation shuddered its way down to the base of Shizuo's spine.  
"What's your name, bartender-san?" Izaya asked, a smile tugging on his lips.  
"Shizuo", the man in question answered reflexively.

  
The thought struck him that it was strange to introduce oneself with first names, at least in Japan. It was so... _intimate_. But for some reason it didn't feel wrong, and Shizuo quickly forbade himself to think the word "intimate" again, partly because such introduction might be normal in Russia, partly because of his body's reaction to the word. That was not the worst, though, he realized, as Izaya tested his name on his tongue. Out of his mouth, it sounded like melting butter.  
"Shizuo, hmm? That's a nice name. I like the sound of it."  
The blond could only just stop himself from saying _"me too, out of your mouth"._ Instead, he slid the drink over the counter. Izaya caught it with ease.  
"Spasíbo."  
Shizuo had heard that word before, had heard his co-worker Vorona say it on the phone. What did it mean again? Well, whatever it was, hearing that voice speak in Russian distracted him enough to give him trouble remembering anything, so he stood there awkwardly, blushing, without knowing what to answer.

Izaya seemed to notice his distress, because he lowered his gaze just to look back at Shizuo with a bemused smile.

“I only said ‘thank you’.”

Then he paused for a moment. His lips parted slightly, gulping in a small gush of air in hesitation. If it was nervousness or calculation was hard to tell with the kind of guy _Izaya_ appeared to be. But what kind of guy he _was_ turned out to be hard to determine for Shizuo, especially when his gaze was stuck absentmindedly to the plump red of parted lips.

“I wouldn’t misuse the Russian language to say anything _uncomely_ of course.”

The innocent look on that youthful face was combined with a silky voice, dipping into its lower ranges at the end of the sentence to draw up a rough edge that sounded _much less_ innocent. Again, a contrast that Shizuo could not unify. Maybe that was exactly the allure of it. Izaya took a sip of the White Russian resting against his delicate fingers swiftly, but his face scrunched up in discomfort only a second later.

“Ugh, it’s so _sweet_.”

Apparently, he hadn’t known what a White Russian was before he had ordered it, or maybe he had forgotten what one tasted like, because he huffed a laugh that was self-referred rather than mocking anyone else before pushing the glass back towards the bartender.

“Could you be a dear and put two more shots of vodka and one shot of espresso into it, please?”

Ironically, _Izaya_ liked to sweet-talk sickeningly much for not liking sweet things.

Working quickly, he had already put the White Russian into a bigger tumbler and started to pour the vodka shots as Izaya leaned closer again.

“You know, I could just order something else but… I really wouldn’t want to waste _any_ of the _milk_ you give me.”

Shizuo accidentally poured one for Izaya and one for the floor upon hearing that. Shakily, he moved to find the cold espresso. The real reason he tried to stick his head deeply into the fridge was not his search for coffee, though.

“Are you alright?” Izaya asked knowingly after Shizuo had spent almost a minute with his head in the fridge and still didn’t seem to have found what he was looking for.

“Yeah”, he rasped, “ just… can’t find it...”

“Could ‘it’ possibly be the container that says “chilled espresso” and sits on the counter behind you?”

Shizuo, much less chilled than the espresso, came back up to see Izaya with an annoyingly smug grin on his face which he decided not to honor with any attention as he turned away from him to retrieve the aforementioned bottle a little more roughly then necessary. _Of course_ , that bastard knew exactly what he was doing. The blond straightened both his back and his resolve not to fall prey to this guy’s game as he poured one shot of espresso into the now oversized and altered “White Russian”.

“Youre welcome”, was Shizuo’s stoic response as he unceremoniously set the new glass onto the counter.

Those rust-coloured eyes focused on the blond bartender in front of him as he slowly drew the beige drink towards him, his tongue flicking out to wrap sensually around the black straw millimeters before it touched his lips. He held Shizuo’s gaze as he suckled on it, as he drew a big gulp, as he released the straw, as he caught a drop that had spilled over the corner of his mouth with a finger and licked it off. Shizuo couldn’t help but imagine something different.

“Oops, kakoy besporyadok."

When a splash of heat ran through his stomach, Shizuo avoided looking at the might-be-Russian’s lips and instead looked at his collarbones which turned out not to be a better choice. Unmarred milky skin stretched over delicate bones, appearing soft and dangerously inviting.

“It tastes much better now, though. I like slightly bitter tastes, you know. And a bit of _saltiness_.”

As much as the sultry warmth in his voice and his slightly hooded eyes spoke of clear intention, Shizuo still believed that Izaya was messing with him. That guy wasn’t serious, right? He probably just got off on manipulating people. So even though he got the reference, _as did his nether regions_ , he ignored him.

“Oh, would you like some crackers with your drink, then?”

The corners of Izaya’s mouth dropped in disappointment at a response he clearly hadn’t expected.

But it took about five seconds until a new determined fire lit up in his eyes. The raven leaned back leisurely in his bar stool, a sweet smile on his pink lips.

“No thanks. I’d just like some more ice cubes, if that could be arranged.”

Shizuo mirrored the sweet smile that was sent his way, sarcastic.

“Of course, _Sir_. That can be arranged. I hope they’ll _cool you down_.”

“Why?” the other asked, once again infuriatingly bemused. “Am I too _hot_?”

The trained bartender chose not to react, _not to react at all_ to this bastard. Instead, he kept the sweet, fake smile – or the grimace of gritted teeth – tightly in place and dropped one ice cube after the other, four in total, with exaggerated, butler-ish care into the big tumbler. But the last one slipped. A tiny splash of milky alcohol jumped out of the glass, landing on Izaya’s hand that lay flat on the counter. A crooked, dirty grin spread over his face, his glimmering eyes never leaving Shizuo’s as he lifted his hand to his mouth and licked the drop off in lascivious fashion.

“ _Thanks, bartender-san_ ”, the little devil piped innocently before he went back to leisurely sucking on his straw.

Shizuo’s face was burning, and he needed to get away. Now. Otherwise he would keep on making mistakes, and this _flea_ would keep taking advantage of them.

“Well,” Shizuo pressed out tightly, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got other guests to attend to.”

“Ah, no. You really don't.” Izaya countered dismissively.

“What?” Shizuo, who had already turned to leave, whipped back around, temper flaring. “How the fuck would you know?!”

“Your gorgeous blonde co-worker” He pointed towards Vorona who worked the other side of the bar.

“She's the center of attention over there. And I _might_ have slipped her some cash to unburden you a little. You got all your time for me.”

Izaya grinned at him while Shizuo gazed disbelievingly from him to her. Vorona glanced back at him for a brief moment as he mouthed “ _What the hell?_ ” but she just shrugged her shoulders and winked before turning her stone face back to her crowd.

Izaya smiled nonchalantly. “Don't judge her. Russians can't resist a good deal.”

“What the fuck do you want, then, huh? Do you want to annoy me?”

“Actually, right now, I want the best sake on the list.”

That was not the answer Shizuo expected. But he complied with his wish, pouring him a glass of refined high quality sake.

“And now I want you to drink it.” Izaya piped, looking at him expectantly.

“No.”

“Aww, why not?”

“I’m working. I don’t drink on duty.”

“I dare you to do it. You wouldn’t want to lose to me would you? Ne byt' proigravshim."

There it was again. That dip of his dark eyelashes, these eyes trained on him with a challenging gaze, this voice dripping over foreign syllables like honey. It was so infuriating and so…

He didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. Didn’t want to give him what he wanted. Which action would mean victory for the raven? He couldn’t keep track of the logic underlying their conversation. If there was any.

_"Trus"_

Shizuo didn’t need to know the language to know that word was an insult. It was something poisonous, like the man’s voice, and somehow it managed to push him over the edge.

He grabbed the glass and emptied it in one draft.

Maybe it was the adrenaline, or his blood pressure, but he could already feel the alcohol thrumming warm through his veins, remembering faintly he hadn’t drunken alcohol in a really long time.

The smirk on Izaya’s lips and the glimmer of victory in his eyes as he relaxed back into his seat seemed to prove that Izaya would have won either way. All of this felt like he was stealing his control.

The man's gaze lingered on him again in such a heavy manner, heated and meaningful. If this was a joke, it was an elaborate one. His next words dragged through the space between them in a tone that couldn't be described as anything less than _dirty_.

"Ty takoy chertovski goryachiy. Pozvol'te mne sorvat' etu odezhdu."

Shizuo _hated_ the way his body reacted. His fist crashed down on the counter, briefly missing the glass.

„Can you stop throwing Russian at me?! I don’t fucking speak that!”

“No. You like it.”

“I don't.”

“Tell me, bartender, have you ever had a Russian Kiss?”

“Never heard of that drink.”

“Oh, the recipe is a secret” Izaya breathed, leaning as far over the counter as he could, never breaking his heated gaze. “Come a little closer.”

Shizuo couldn't resist the pull of his curiosity, leaning over the counter just like him until their noses almost touched, captivated by each others' gaze. Izaya's hot, minty breath fanned against his cheek ashe leaned in towards Shizuo's ear, as if to whisper something into it. The bartender's heart was beating rapidly in his chance as he waited, lips parting slightly to release the breath he held in anticipation.

But instead of saying something, Izaya slipped a dripping ice cube into his mouth before joining their lips for a kiss. In surprise, Shizuo opened his mouth further, giving Izaya the access to push the melting ice cube onto his tongue, his own joining a dance around the solid coolness. Wet and electric. He didn't know what was going on as his body took over unchecked, kissing back, indulging in the foreign feeling. Izaya sucked on his tongue, claiming the ice back before he pulled away, swallowing with a dirty grin and a glazed over look in his eyes.

“As you can see, I swallow.”

“Oh my god”

"Eto verno“

Shizuo was still feeling dizzy and disoriented when Izaya stood up from his seat all of a sudden, grabbed his phone, put it in his blazer pocket and pulled out a pen and a small notepad.

“I'd love to stay a little longer but I got another tiny event to attend this evening.”, Izaya explained while scribbling onto the note. He ripped the note off in an elegant motion.

“But when your shift's over, you might want to take advantage of this.” he smirked, leaning over the counter one last time to slip the note into the bartender's breast pocket. Then he dropped a few bills onto the hardwood.

"uvidimsya"

And he turned around and left. Just like that.

 

Shizuo stood there, confused and turned on, frozen to the spot until Vorona called to him.

“Shizuo-san. Work must go on.”

“Mhm.” Pulling out the note from his breast pocket, Shizuo stared at the strange symbols until he could make sense of what they were. He groaned, holding it out to his co-worker.

“Vorona-san. What does this say? Its in Russian.”  
  
Due to her limited Japanese,  she could only give him the approximate translation of "This person expresses wish to say inappropriate things in Russian language while lying down on cushioned surface with you" but that was more than enough to understand what the note really said.

Especially since the last line on it was an address in Shinjuku.

 It was way too hot in here, he thought, grabbing an ice cube out of habit. Only this time, it didn't help quench the heat.

 

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thanks for reading! Please leave a comment!  
> A Russian Kiss - french kissing with an ice cube - was something everyone wanted to do back in high school when we were like sixteen, so when i googled that term I was surprised that I couldnt find anything about it. I really thought this was more well-known. Apparently it's not?
> 
> I'm very sorry to say that I don't speak Russian myself (which is really sad because it is such a beautiful language) and I literally punched those translations into google translator, I'm so ashamed honestly. That's why I'm asking (begging) anyone who reads this and speaks Russian to check my translations and correct me if necessary. I don't wanna be one of those people who abuse someone's mother tongue for the sake of fanfiction.  
> down below are the translations that are hopefully accurate (but probably not, let's be honest):
> 
> Spasíbo. (Спаси́бо.) - Thank you  
> kakoy besporyadok (какой беспорядок.) - What a mess  
> Ne byt' proigravshim (Не быть проигравшим) - Don't be a loser  
> Trus (Трус) - coward  
> Ty takoy chertovski goryachiy. Pozvol'te mne sorvat' etu odezhdu. (ты такой чертовски горячий. Позвольте мне сорвать эту одежду) - You're so fucking hot. Let me rip off those clothes  
> eto verno (это верно) - That's right  
> Uvidimsya (увидимся.) - see you later


End file.
